


Malus Deus Ex Cardia

by Leliel12



Category: Persona 5, Persona Series, Warhammer 40.000
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Fusion, Alternate Universe - Serial Killers, Attempted Sexual Assault, Corruption, Gen, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Rating May Change, the road to hell is paved with good intentions
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-04
Updated: 2017-08-03
Packaged: 2018-10-27 21:58:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 14,686
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10817577
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Leliel12/pseuds/Leliel12
Summary: Order without humanity makes its own monsters. And the Dark Gods so love their monsters.(The saga of how the people who would have been the Phantom Thieves instead brought Warp worship to Tokyo. Whether or not this is better than a certain politician and his divine patron's Law is a matter of opinion.)





	1. The High Cartomancer

**Author's Note:**

> Behold, Rule 43: The more pure or innocent something is, the more satisfying it is to corrupt it.
> 
> Well, okay, that's not the whole reason. I just realized that Persona 5 is all about how Chaos and personal desires are good in the right doses, which naturally led me, being the Black Crusade fanboy that I am, to remember how the Chaos Gods are drawn to people who have been crushed repeatedly by social order. Part of what makes it the Great Enemy is that certain kinds of oppression make it worse-the Imperium has its just causes, but when they're forgotten, well...the dark path can begin with the desire to save your children, and so on.
> 
> (apologies if that's incorrect Latin. I don't speak it.)
> 
> Also, my attempt at writing Chaos at its most affable and sympathetic-which the Inquisition would argue (probably correctly), is when it's at it's most dangerous.

_"Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for riding with us today. We will be arriving in Shibuya shortly..."_  
  
Akira Kurusu was not a particularly involved student, but he wasn't precisely _lazy,_ just prone to daydreams. Such as the cute one about being a writer for a Buchimaru-kun reboot (although, given how Buchimaru-kun was a chibi panda, the great Venn Diagram of him and cute tended to resemble a circle). But no, the announcement had sense him straight back to reality, and with that, straight back to the bitter understanding of why he was in Tokyo.  
  
_Thanks for sticking up for me, mom. That took, what, one whole hour you could have spent on whisky consumption to advocate for my transfer instead of juvie._ This was, of course, an exaggeration. Mrs. Kurusu preferred lighter alcohols such as saki or box wine to the hard stuff. The Kurusus were not a happy family. Really, as much of a hardass as "Sojiro Sakura" seemed by the sound of him (even if Akira's full knowledge of him was 'he's desperate enough for money to take in delinquents for a year or so', that said a lot right there), it had to be better than his home situation by default. Better the apathetic than...whatever his parents were.  
  
There was a quick " _pipipi"_ from his phone as a text from the only reason Akira was still sane hit his phone.  
  
FlameOfAnor **:** Going by the train times, I say you're reached your house arrest away from house arrest.  
  
What _was_ it with Hayato Kurou and his obsession with schedules? Still, he was grateful for the company-especially given how it was him who initially floated the idea of living with Sakura for a while.  
  
Kurusu22: Got it in one.  
  
FlameOfAnor: *victory emoji*  
  
FlameOfAnor: It's a bit premature, but welcome to scenic Yongen-Jaya.  
  
FlameOfAnor: Gawk in amazement at the Impossible Buildings, able to stand even while their supports are rotting out from under them.  
  
Kurusu22: I take it you don't like it here.  
  
FlameOfAnor: Spoiler; Sojiro has an attic above his restaurant for you.  
  
FlameOfAnor: Until he gave it out for free, he had an ad for lodgers.  
  
FlameOfAnor: The going rate was 28000 yen a month.  
  
FlameOfAnor: This has permanently given him a reputation in Yongen-Jaya for being almost suicidally charitable.  
  
Kurusu22: ...I take it's not a nice attic.  
  
FlameOfAnor: Well, it's roomy and sterile, but it's an attic. There's only so nice you can get.  
  
FlameOfAnor: Also, look where you're walking. You're about to fall off a curb.  
  
Surprised, Akira skidded to a halt right at the edge of the street, where there was an ankle-twisting drop. A quick glance around confirmed there was no men in floral print pants texting nearby.  
  
Kurusu22: HOW DO YOU DO THAT.  
  
FlameOfAnor: Three guesses.  
  
Kurusu22: You're an esper-except not really...  
  
FlameOfAnor: I just have good intuition.  
  
FlameOfAnor: You're learning.  
  
FlameOfAnor: Really, you just walk while texting a lot, and I know my concrete nemesis far too well. Ow.  
  
FlameOfAnor: But I'm sick of being so impersonal. See you at Leblanc.  
  
With that, Hayato logged off.  
  
As Akira put away his phone, he sighed. Luxury attics and buildings that stood out of inertia. Well, he couldn't really complain-unless Sakura lived outside of his cafe, there-  
  
Huh.  
  
Did the world seem a bit more...blue, than usual?  
  
Taking off his glasses, Akira blinked a few times. No, it definitely wasn't that. For a moment, he wondered if he did need actual prescription lenses...then he noticed the world got especially blue around a single location. A bookstore, which would look like any other literary chain were it not for the shade that made it seem like it was underwater. Curious, he went inside-Sakura wouldn't mind him being, oh, five minutes late.  
  
The shade abated once he was actually in the storefront, but in its place was something just as bizarre, sitting right on the counter. It was a book, to be certain, but not exactly one associated with typical mass-market reading. In fact, the term that sprung to mind was a Western medieval bible or other codex thereof, one that was as much work of visual art as a keeper of information. Someone had obviously put a great deal of effort into this book's cover, with complex designs of gold leaf and lapis insets across a binding that, Akira realized as he ran his fingers over it, had to be real leather. Emblazoned across it was a set of exactly twenty-three dragons in various poses, though two were so intertwined they may have been one, an image helped by how those two were the only that looked truly similar.  
  
Contrary to popular belief, Akira was a proud bookworm; while he wasn't a honor student, this had more to do with he being marked out as a "problem child" since birth, and thus his teachers really didn't bother to nurture his intellect. The boy loved his books, though mostly for the stories within them-he wasn't a fan of online pdfs, but that had more to do with the tiny screen of his smartphone giving him eyestrain than any real objection to the concept. Few books, however, were as _beautiful_ as this one tome. Somehow, somehow he sensed this was the source of the shade-the book _wanted_ him to have it.  
  
The frugal side of his personality immediately spoke up. This thing was obviously either a collector's item, or part of the shop display rather than on sale. Even if he could afford it, Sakura would probably not be pleased by the idea behind his temporary ward wasting most of his budget on a single book that was meant less for reading and more as a pretty paperweight.  
  
Still, it didn't hurt to ask.  
  
"Hey," he began to the store clerk. "That's a...very pretty book there."  
  
"You like it?" The clerk smiled, obviously having rehearsed the speech. "It belonged to my grand-"  
  
The world _flipped._ Space itself seemed to spiral in upon itself, the ticking of the grandfather clock in the corner became deafening, a surprised Akira tried to keep his balance-  
  
And suddenly, he was outside the store.  
  
With the book in his hands.  
  
After gawking stupidly at his sudden acquisition, Akira suddenly realized _exactly_ how it would look to the clerk if a valued possession of her family wound up in a delinquent's hands. Hurriedly, he stuffed the book into his bag, and walked as fast as he could towards the backstreets of Yongen-Jaya.  
  
He never noticed that the storefront was now a blank wall.

 

 

* * *

Sojiro Sakura seemed...nice.  
  
Well, kind of a hardass, unbelievably cynical, and probably the platonic ideal of someone who had their dreams crushed pretty thoroughly when he was younger. But the kind of crushed that made him intent on protecting other people from the same crushing.  
  
Though currently, he had more important things to worry about than sleep. Cleaning, obviously-Hayato wasn't kidding about things only being able to get so nice with an attic. But then was the book.  
  
Much to Akira's frustration, the book was written in a western tongue too, probably Greek going by the lettering. Thankfully, someone (likely the grandparent) had stapled a translation guide to the backside of the front cover-after a couple tries, transposing the foreign letters to katakana, at least. In fact, after a couple obvious mistranslations, the book's contents flowed like water, with Akira able to get the table of contents and half of the first chapter (of 27) translated.  
  
(The idea that the book may have been helping him was not lost on him-it seemed active enough to teleport, for one).  
  
As Akira worked, it became increasingly clear that the book was a novel, of sorts, entitled _Pilgrimage of the Wyvern_. In it, a figure known only as the Wise Fool set out from a cruel, oppressive kingdom to "fly with the Dragons of those days", though Akira wasn't sure if the fool wanted to be friends with the dragons, or _become_ one. Perhaps both. The first chapter covered the motives of the Fool, how his name came from the fact that he repeatedly did not see the point in things like war against a far-distant race of elves who sought to be left alone, or sending boys to toil in the flesh-forges of living weapons until they became weapons themselves. Curiously, the book focused a lot on the technical detail of many rites the Fool performed, keeping very precise detail of the various rituals he did that were supposedly innovations of the various rites his native land did without thought or understanding.  
  
The boy decided it would not surprise him in the least if these rituals were guides to performing them in real life. This book was obviously supernatural enough as it was.  
  
Of course, of the three rites he had translated, only one was feasible as it was right now. A rite to "behold the true nature" of those around you-and that came with a pretty major caveat.  
  
_The Fool shrieked and fled, and took a knife to his pupils. He cursed his vision, cursed his knowledge, cursed his enemy, cursed his mentor, cursed his friends, cursed his home, cursed his species, cursed his world-but cursed himself most of all, for his weakness. Of course the truth was terrible and ugly, he thought to himself. Lies were a shield, a holy shield between thought and shadow, a barrier against the savagery of knowing the blackest chambers of the heart. To look upon them required some will much greater than a mere fool. And so the second reason to fly with the Dragons laid itself within his soul..._  
  
If Akira had read this before his probation, he would have broken down into a giggling fit at the overblown words. Of course people weren't _that_ sick, he would have thought to himself. Yeah, you may discover some people had an erotic balloon animal business, but after a little nausea, you'd be glad you knew what everyone was like.  
  
After having been convicted for assault due to throwing a drunk potential rapist off his intended victim- _due to his intended victim's testimony_ -well...  
  
Akira spent long and hard looking at that ritual, rolling a ball back and forth. He'd love to know what the people in Shujin Academy were like, know who would accept a delinquent and who he should avoid at all cost...but then again, he didn't want to attend that school terrified of the monsters hiding in the heart of his homeroom teacher. It was quite the debate between the parliament of internal voices.  
  
Then a new voice joined the chorus, one that sounded a lot like Hayato had when he was volunteering to take Akira to Shujin: _Can you risk_ not _knowing the monsters?_  
  
The voice won. Slowly, Akira started to mop up the remaining dust in the attic, mixing it with a can of convenient paint. The spell only worked if you cast it before sleep, after all.  


 

* * *

 

"T' re'Ter'ATE," garbled the many-eyed, cillia-mouthed spider-slug thing that Hayato had named Principal Kobayakawa, "juSt sso wr' cLeAR, 'u w'll bE EXpElLed If 'u cA'se AnY Pr'blEmS." To emphasize its point, one of the tentacle-like arms trailed over Akira, leaving behind a thin trail of silk.  
  
"No objections," Akira squeaked, in a voice he hoped came off as deferential rather than fear for his life.  
  
"G'd." The spider-slug turned to the chained woman with no eyes but tears, cowering behind the cage the bloody, golden chains were wrapped through and constructed around. He was sure the spider-slug was saying something, but he would rather not listen to the buzzing, garbled "voice" any more than was absolutely necessary. The woman looked up, revealing the name-shaped scar around her throat. "I'm Sadayo Kawakami," she whispered, obviously strained from the twin gilded spikes driven through her heart. "Here's your student ID."  
  
Ha. And think he'd be scared of his _homeroom teacher's_ inner monster.  
  
To be fair, it wasn't nearly as bad as he feared. True, he had to ignore pedestrians lest he see another naked skinless burning goblin (that was enough knowledge for a lifetime), but Sakura's monster looked...sad, but majestic. Wounded, particularly given how the translucent skin around his own heart revealed that there was a brand that looked like a woman's face on his left ventricle, but his wings put Akira in mind of a protective hawk (or more accurately, a bat) than any man-eater. Hayato's didn't seem that bad either, if a bit more cunning than Akira had thought of his "surrogate uncle." The main danger in Kawakami's beast was the overpowering urge to hug her in public and tell her repeatedly that everything would get better, which Akira suspected would probably result in jail time and pepper spray to the face.  
  
The Principal, though? The Principal was in a class of his own-and going by the silver veins coming out of the slug's back trailing into the sky, Akira felt the lurching sensation he was only a cog in a much bigger, much more disgusting machine.  
  
Thankfully, the meeting was incredibly short-Hayato just showed the paper Sakura had already signed, and after one last handshake with the Principal, the boy and his friend walked out-and straight to the bathroom, supposedly because the boy needed to pee, really so that he could rub that hand red with soap. Inanimate objects, thankfully, were not affected.  
  
After coming out, both man and student walked a bit, exploring the halls of the empty school. Somehow Akira managed to avoid talking to a six-armed caped demon with a swollen tongue when Kawakami got his attention instead. Unfortunately, Akira did see the chameleon-like eyes get a good look at the chained teacher's rump, which was even more skeevy than usual given the slavery undertones that was Kawakami's entire true self.  
  
Hayato patiently waited for his surrogate nephew to step retching in the corner before leading him to the car.  
  
Inevitably, questions were asked.  
  
But not the question Akria was expecting.  
  
"It gets to be a burden, doesn't it?"  
  
Akira blinked, confused. "Sorry?"  
  
"Tzeentch's eyes," Hayato replied, rolling the vulture-like head on his enormous neck as his wings drooped. "Having to see the denied aspects of everyone, devoid of even the pretense of being the same species."  
  
Akira was glad he wasn't drinking anything-else, he would have had to explain the stain in Sakura's car to him. "You can tell!?"  
  
"More than that," he said, tapping his staff with a prehensile tail. "For ages, that was the _only_ way I could see humans. It took me decades to blind myself to the Immaterium and the Shadows of people cast on it for more than an hour. Really, if you ask me, Jerdyl wrote that spell primarily so that other people could share her suffering. She was always a spiteful one, my little sister."  
  
Akira was not stupid. From the sound of things, Hayato saw things like this since birth, and "decades" implied, well, twenty years or more-but the man Akira knew was barely 25. "Little sister" seemed also a bit strange, given how the yellowing and feel of the pages implied the book was many years older than modern paper, probably made just after the printing press was. And uh, the name. "Jerdyl" didn't exactly sound Japanese.  
  
"...You're not from around here, are you?"  
  
"Technically, I'm not sure I'm from around _now_. Time gets...odd, in the Immaterium, based on perception and thought." He chucked, his beak turning malleable before flowing into a form that resembled a sardonic grin. "Schedules are about the only way I can ensure that I'm actually moving in a consistent temporal direction in the Great Sea." His wings drooped a little bit more. "I wish that I didn't see farther than the present too, times. You do _not_ want to know what happens to this galaxy around the thirtieth millennium on, let me tell you."  
  
...Okay, now Akira _had_ to know. "Huh? What happens then?"  
  
Hayato sighed. "The ultimate victory of men like Kobayakawa. See, a couple thousand years previous, a group of shamans decided to blend their Shadows together, and from them form a perfect human..."  


 

* * *

Slowly, Akira's perceptions readjusted themselves, and the interrogation room swam back into view. Damn tranqs-someone knew how to shut down psyker mutations. He mentally filed it away in his third cortex to check if a member of the Ordo Hereticus hadn't followed Hayat- _Abazar_ back, and joined the Tokyo PD. Ugh, his head...  
  
Sae Niijima nodded, the color having gone back to her face once she got used to the unshrouded and Clarified appearance of her former acquaintance. "I see. So Kurou knew you since before your probation. I can only assume he was the one who led you to the 'book' you learned your 'powers', from." She took out a file with a defiant Sadayo on the front, now heavily tattooed and with her eyes a cold azure rather than their original black. "Kawakami joined the church later, I assume? Before she killed the Takases."  
  
"After," Akira corrected, tapping his talons on the table. "They wanted her to sell her body. I gave her an athame." The demon-masked knight swam back into view, but thankfully his brain wasn't so shot as for him to lose the ability to look at Sae's human body instead.  
  
It was a testament to how anarchic things had gotten that Sae didn't react to the sudden revelation of Sadayo's last straw. "And the...daemon it summoned helped her hide the bodies, and then secure an escape route. I'll take a guess and assume that she wanted to deal with her guilt over killing her blackmailers and felt grateful for you giving her a way out."  
  
"You guess well, Sae." Akira forced a smirk. "The Architect of Fate and the Dark Prince would war to possess your faith."  
  
"I'm not one of your damn cultists!" Sae shouted, perhaps a bit too quickly and forcefully to come off as entirely sure of that assumption. "I..." Slowly, Sae sat back down, breathing slowly. "I'm sure you meant that as a compliment," she finished, evenly. "But you're still responsible for a lot of pain, and it's been...a long month."  
  
"They teach you understatement in prosecutor school?" Akira asked.  
  
"Stop kidding around!" Sae said, eyes narrowing. "I don't have time for your jokes, and neither do you!"  
  
She pulled out another picture, this one of a distinct set of Tarot cards. "Tell me how you made these, and then tell me about your Coven. Who are they, and how did they get their powers as well?"


	2. Breaker of Crowns

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNING: This involves Kamoshida, aka Sex Criminal Narcissistic Creep Teacher, and narrow aversion of...what he does in canon. It's hard to fully express Kamoshida's character and not get into very uncomfortable territory, so be warned.

* * *

 

Another day, another failed quiz. Such was Ryuji Sakamoto's life.  
  
It wasn't that he was _stupid,_ precisely. Well, okay, he knew full well he wasn't the brightest bulb in the box (in fact, as far as illumination went you'd be justified in getting a refund for defective merchandise in the extended metaphor), but he was okay with homework assignments and longer-term projects. It was the effing (not "fucking"-Ryuji was not the least foul-mouthed student to ever live, but the f-bomb was one of three swears that needed a special situation before it overcame his mother's ingrained ethics lessons) test anxiety that got him, and his hatred of studying.  
  
Well, that, and the presence of the perverted shithead currently breathing down his neck.  
  
"Math troubles, Sakamoto?" Said shithead, Suguru Kamoshida the volleyball coach and PE teacher, began pleasantly. Ryuji was not fooled. "Knowing what Ms. Usami's getting into, can't say I blame you. Even Mishima has problems with it."  
  
To anyone who only knew general tech geek Yuuki Mishima through his grades, like most people in school, this would come off as genuine sympathy. To anyone who was in Kamoshida's orbit, the hidden taunt blared like an exploding bomb-Mishima was the designated punching bag of the volleyball club, due to his less-than-stellar athletic abilities.  
  
Ryuji, much to his own dismay, was part of the latter group. "Gee, thanks sensei," he murmured, trying very hard to ignore the adult version of a playground bully.  
  
"You know," he continued, "the volleyball team also doubles as a study group. While I know we've had our differences in the past, you've obviously recovered enough to-"  
  
Whatever Kamoshida was about to say was long out of earshot, Ryuji having left his notepad behind in the scurry to _get away from the asshole_.  
  
Once he was a safe distance (about seven meters, give or take), Ryuji slowed to a stop and checked behind him. From his glance, Kamoshida had lost interest...  
  
Because Ann Takamaki had rounded a corner, and was now forcing a smile at her her supposed sugar daddy flirting with her.  
  
Yeah, "Kamoshida's beloved," Ryuji's bum foot. Takamaki and he had known each other since elementary school, and while the bottle blonde was hesitant to call the actual blonde his "friend", he actually bothered to know her beyond bullshit stereotypes of loose _gaijin._ Whatever Kamoshida did to charm her, it was a complete and utter lie-and no matter how well he actually treated Takamaki, Ryuji _knew_ that he wasn't good for her. He didn't know what kind of spell he cast on her to make her think there was something redeemable in him, but Ryuji would break it, for the entire school, someday.  
  
_And do what?,_ a thought that sounded like his vanished and much-despised father said. _They will never take your word over that of King Kamoshida. He's a celebrity, and you're a thug._  
  
The thought had a point. So, hating himself for his weakness, Ryuji vanished into the halls.  
  
He didn't notice the tiny, amorphous humanoid thing observing the whole exchange, nor did he notice it vanish into a swirling dark.

 

 

* * *

 

"Hey, do you go to Shujin?"  
  
Startled, Ryujin nearly dropped his bag into the rain-slick street.  
  
The boy behind him didn't look like too much. Bespectacled, dark-haired, probably erring towards the side of mildly. Also, with a feline head sticking out of his backpack, so apparently a fanatical pet owner. The one odd aspect of his stance was a light smile on his face, despite being in the middle of the rain without any umbrella.  
  
"Yeah?" Ryuji replied. "Who's asking?"  
  
"Kurusu. Akira Kurusu." The smile widened a bit. "I'm the psychopath who murdered a guy and was sent far away from my terrified parents."  
  
Oh, so _this_ was the transfer. Something told Ryuji the rumors (from personal experience) were greatly exaggerated. "Ryuji Sakamoto," the fake blonde replied, grinning. "I punched a teacher in the teeth. He was totally asking for it, though."  
  
"Kamoshida, I hear?" Kurusu cocked his head almost imperceptibly. "I think I saw him picking up a pair of girls."  
  
A _pair!?_ "Wait, are you telling me he's drooling over _multiple_ teens now? That sick bastard!"  
  
Kurusu nodded. "I know, right? Both looked like they would rather be... _anywhere_ else."  
  
Ryuji could already tell this guy was bro material. "Well, I'll be upfront and admit I didn't realize he was the kind of person who bites jailbait when I punched him-he has way more reasons to hate his ass than that."  
  
Then something occurred to him. "Hang on, why're you asking me? I appreciate the company, but..."  
  
Akira shrugged. "It's nice being the school bad boy, but it's not so nice to have that label applied to you by forces beyond your control. You're the only male I've seen who isn't passing around notes about me."  
  
Oh yeah, the rumors. "Shit. Now I _have_ to be your friend. Delinquents gotta stick together, I guess."  
  
"Muhahaha, my ridiculously circuitous scheme to have something resembling a social life is one-quarter complete." When Ryuji greeted that with a blank stare, Akira shrugged. " _Futurama._ It's an American comedy anime."  
  
"And you _understood_ that?"  
  
"Circuitous: A route that takes far longer than is necessary."  
  
"...Please tell me you bring that intelligence to study groups," Ryuji said, a pleading look in his eye.  
  
"That and more. Buy now!" Akira laughed, an oddly tinkling sound. "So, you know any good places to eat? I'll pay."  
  
"Nah, I'll keep with your choices," Ryuji replied. "I'm okay with anything today."  
  
As they were walking off, Ryuji realized something; while the cat had been intently watching Ryuji the entire time, it didn't seem to mind the rain. In fact, it hardly seemed wet.  
  
Neither, for that matter, was its owner.  
  
Weird.

 

 

* * *

 

"...and then the old bastard blames me!" Ryuji leaned back into Leblanc's booth, swinging his leg around to rest on the seat. "I mean, seriously! You're the asshole who's convinced the school my mom is a...loose woman, you deliberately crippled me for the sake of your own volleyball ego, and now _you're_ the real victim!? Egotistical, much?"  
  
Something about Akira radiated-well, not trustworthiness. More like someone who had kept secrets for a long time and wouldn't mind adding a few of yours to his collection. Quite simply, Ryuji felt he could unload a _lot_ of weight on his back.  
  
For his part, Akira listened intently, occasionally speaking only to clarify a point. By the end of Ryuji's rant, he finally put down the hands that were covering his mouth, his perpetual smile gone. "I wish I had words for what you went for. Instead, I'll just say...that was rough."  
  
"You said it. Rough, and with no chance of it getting _less_ rough." Ryuji sighed, swirling what was left of his curry around the plate. "Now and forever, I'm the shit on the boot of society-everybody thinks I'm gonna join the Yakuza or something, and occasionally, I wonder if they're right. I mean, what's society ever done for me? Might as well get some cool tats and actual buddies out of it, if I ever find a clan that doesn't murder people. Or deal drugs."  
  
"Hm," Akira said, looking over Ryuji intently. "I can definitely see that. Beware Ryuji Sakamoto, the noble pirate."  
  
"...Huh." Ryuji smirked. "Actually, that does fit. Arr, I be Captain Ryuji. Hand over ye mangas."  
  
Akria snorted. The cat (Morgana, his owner had bizarrely called him) instead affixed the blonde with a flat expression of total lack of amusement before meowing.  
  
The other boy flicked said cat on the nose. "Shush you. This is our _guest._ " He smiled sheepishly. "Sorry, Gyrinxes can be a bit of a handful."  
  
_You don't say_. Morgana seemed to have decided that Ryuji was somewhere between a very large dog and the average dead body in term of likability, going by his perpetually sour glare. "The fact your cat hates me aside," Ryuji began, ignoring the more insistent meow, "You've been a real help. It's just..it's just..."  
  
"Like you don't have any power at all?" Akira's smile turned sympathetic. "You feel weak, because Kamoshida is protected by something that you can't fight. A coward's shield of fame and acceptance, even if what you know he really is-because King Kamoshida is _perfect_. Obviously, any who accuse him of faults must be jealous, because if Kamoshida isn't perfect-then who is?"  
  
Ryuji blinked. "...Are you psychic? Because seriously, you're reading out of my journal right now. With more flowery language."  
  
The cat's meow sounded kind of like a laugh.  
  
"Maybe. But if so, I rely on intuition more." With that, he pulled out twenty-two cards that didn't come from any playing deck Ryuji had and fanned them out. Four were red, another four blue, a third set purple, a fourth set green, and a fifth an off-grey color. One at the end was pure white, and the other at the far end was black.  
  
Morgana leaned down to paw at one of the red cards, which Akira held up. On it was emblazoned a design that resembled nothing so much as a cybernetic dragon, merged with an abstract war machine. Two claws extended outward-one, a black claw, was holding a massive rifle smoking with mutlicolored fire, and the other white one some strange combo between a sword and a _chainsaw_ , of all things (Ryuji wasn't sure if that was the most stupidly awesome thing he had ever seen or the most awesomely stupid). "If you'll excuse my superstition, this is you. A mighty Chariot, holding the fruits of long labor and knowledge in one hand and the refined form of ancient and noble morals in the other. Except for right now," he said, turning the card upside down, "It's reversed. You have the tools in grasp, but your own social situation has stalled you. You yearn for a better, purer world where people respect honest qualities like strength-whether it be that of arms or character-rather than some competition someone won decades ago and now only people who pay attention to his sport recall."  
  
Ryuji mulled it over. "...Did you have to couch it in spooooky mystic terms? I'd respect people explaining it to me in plain Japanese."  
  
Akira's eyebrows shot up. He mouthed something- _wow, I'm better than I thought_ -before shaking his head. "Do you mind if I give you a spoooky good luck charm?" He held out a strange amulet in his palm-it looked like a shark's tooth, only bigger and more jagged. "My beliefs say it'll help you find places you _can_ make a difference."  
  
Raising his eyebrow, Ryuji took it-  
  
_-"Should someone like me really be on the starting lineup?" Oh God, please Ann, take the hint, I don't want this anymore-_  
  
_-Ann was all but screaming into a phone-"I have a_ job _right now, can you not call me for fifteen damn minutes!?"-  
  
-"Make no mistake Suzui. You're only on here because the pretty one isn't. She begged me to put you on the team-it's time you proved to me you're more than just a drag on the club."  
_  
-and then he was back to reality, breathing heavily.  
  
Akira's smile had disappeared. "What did you see?"  
  
Ryuji didn't have time to question why Akira immediately realized he had a vision of some kind. "Someone-Shiho Suzui, I think-she was talking with Takamaki, begging her to stop a deal-then Takamaki yelling at Kamoshida-then him talking to her in the coach's office..."  
  
Ryuji's face paled. "Oh fuck. I saw what he was doing. What he was going to do-that's why people were hearing screaming coming from there- _we have to stop him!_ "  
  
With that, the blonde charged out of Leblanc, not realizing how fast he was running, or how painlessly-or the slight burning sensation as his left hand turned to gleaming brass.

 

 

* * *

 

"Shh, shh. It's okay. We got him before he got you. It's okay..."  
  
Shiho, for her part, said nothing except the quiet whimpers she was already, but she shivered a little less dramatically under her makeshift blanket, Akira's comforting words soothing the would-be victim of Kamoshida.  
  
Her savior, on the other hand-simply gawked at his new hand, and the terrible wounds it had afflicted on the depraved coach. "What."  
  
_It's a favorite Gift of Khorne's_ , the telepathic voice of Morgana said, "voice" dripping with grudging respect. _He sees a lot of potential in you-apparently even gods have a use for dumb muscle.  
_  
Snarky psychic talking cats. Okay, not the weirdest thing that had happened to Ryuji today. That may have been the vision, or the white rage that quickly replaced Ryuji's panic as soon as he saw the cowering Suzui and a darkly grinning Kamoshida. The kind of white rage that ended with him slathering the blood left on his now metallic left hand on his face. Not that he felt _sorry_ for Kamoshida, and he only felt creeped out by his rage until he felt Suzui cling to his leg, murmuring "thank you" constantly in a tearful tide, but it was still pretty out there.  
  
Except-"Ah hell. He's still _alive_ , isn't he?" _And denying you his skull,_ a strange, rumbling earthquake of a voice echoed from somewhere between Ryuji's mind and his soul. _What an irritation, to be denied a trophy for your virgin victory._ Ryuji decided to ask about that voice later.  
  
"Don't worry, friend," a new voice came. "Akira is only an apprentice at the mental Art, but his first act of high sorcery went without a hitch. The coach is growing too tired to stand as we speak-in the morning, he'll think this all was a dream, like many a lame sitcom before him."  
  
Ryuji turned to face the interloper-a brown-haired man in some very colorful floral pants. "Helped by the fact you fought like a nightmare, and I mean that in the best possible light." Except...there was something off about this man. Like he was just a _projection_ of something much stranger, much older, and much more powerful.  
  
"Hayato!" Akira said, fondly. "Was wondering if you'd show up. How'd my first divination go?"  
  
"I say it went _splendidly._ " Hayato smirked. "Though I'd say you're a bit of a stickler, using my alias in front of two new friends of the truth."  
  
"Oh yeah. Stupid." Akira got up. "Shiho, Ryuji, this is Abazar, the Archivist of Ambitions-and pretty much the closest thing to a real parent I had from elementary school onward. He goes by Hayato Kurou in daily life, but he's really a...how did you describe it?"  
  
"Giant alien bird wizard made of thoughts."  
  
"Right, that. He's the supernatural expert around here."  
  
"Can I go first?" Ryuji asked Shiho.  
  
She nodded silently. "Can't-can't think right now," she murmured, more breath than voice.  
  
"...Right." Ryuji held up his hand. "Why do I have a robot arm now, who is Khorne, and why the _eff_ does he think turning perfectly good hands into robot arms is a cool surprise present?"  
  
"Well, to start with, Khorne didn't precisely turn your arm into his Hand," Abazar began. "Rather, he sensed that you had stopped lying to yourself and letting your hidden side out-every person, you see, has a Shadow cast in the Immaterium, the Great Sea of Souls-their truest selves. It's the power of Chaos, the Primordial Truth I was born from, to help people on this side of the cosmos leave behind their limitations as they dispense with the lies that prevent them from being their true selves; when you accepted your Shadow's desire to protect Suzui regardless of the personal risk, Khorne was able to use your frame of mind to mold your flesh to fit your soul. You've always had a Hand of Khorne, you just never realized it."  
  
Ryuji rose an eyebrow. "And the reason it's a 'favored' gift is...?"  
  
"Well, the gods chose what aspects of your Shadow to mutate into physical being. Khorne likes hands, what can I say? It's how sort of like how we daemons-with an 'a', the 'a' is important-learn to project flesh bodies when we wish to explore the mortal world. Except it's easier, because human mutations are working from a template, we have to pull a human body our of our Neverborn rears." Abazar snorted a bit at his own poor joke. "Second, to explain Khorne, it's best to explain Chaos...but thanks to a _certain person,_ we must first start with the product of a shaman circle's working...and how, in the future his 'perfection' will be used to justify some of the most evil actions this galaxy has ever seen."  
  
Ryuji leaned forward. "I'm listening."

 

* * *

   
(not too long in the future)

"Hey. Pervert. Wake up."  
  
A badly bruised and beaten Kamoshida was snapped back to reality by a bucket of water. And was nearly sent back out of it by the bucket itself being thrown at him.  
  
Slowly, the red shape in front of him resolved into Ryuji Sakamoto-or at least, what would be Sakamoto if Kamoshida wasn't obviously dreaming. He had the metal hand from his first nightmare, but now the boy had dark red skin, fangs for teeth, and a cannon seemingly merged with his right arm, all wrapped in black leathers.  
  
"Yeah, yeah, I'm talking to you, asshole. Bit of a _drop_ from the top, wouldn't you say?"  
  
The fall, yeah. He remembered someone pushing him, a female voice thanking him for the irony. This must be his mind's way of rebooting. In which case, there was nothing...oh.  
  
"Yeah, we don't really care what you have to say," Sakamoto said, poking the gag. "You lost that privilege a _long_ time ago."  
  
Great. Dreaming of his former rival for the school's affections as a giant oni thing, and he couldn't even talk back. Thank you, Kamoshida's Brain. Really good scenario you got going.  
  
"You may be wondering why I woke you up," Sakamoto began, leaning in closer. "Well, the truth is-I wanted to tell you how _frustrating_ you are."  
  
Huh? He didn't imagine Sakamoto-  
  
There was a slight lisp to the demonic track star's voice.  
  
Why did it sound like Sakamoto was having trouble speaking through his fangs.  
  
"I wait, and I wait, for me to _finally_ claim your skull, and by the time we corner you-not only have you been claimed by a natural rival of mine, but you're too _pathetic_ to sacrifice." Sakamoto kneeled in a mockingly friendly demeanor. "I mean, I think you're this big shot Olympian mastermind who's been terrorizing innocent women to slake your decadent passions, and no-it turns out you're just a washed-up old-fart has-been who can't stand not having the ground he walked upon worshiped, so you force teenagers to help you live out your glory days of youth and fame. So I can't even dedicate your death as a good screw you to the other guy."  
  
Slowly, Kamoshida realized that everything seemed too detailed for his imagination to come up with this particular dream.  
  
"So, I just wanted to say-thank you." Sakamoto grinned a shark's grin. "You may be a terrible sacrifice, but you're a great peace offering. My god and Slaanesh may not get along like, at all, but if there's one pleasure we agree is one of the greatest-it's catharsis."  
  
With that, Sakamoto got up, and opened a previously unseen door. Light, multicolored and strange, flashed through the room-followed closely by an odd, cloying mist that smelled of roses, new spring growth, the sea...  
  
And _hatred._  
  
"Oh Ann! I got you the fleshmolding practice dummy you wanted!"

 

* * *

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Before you ask-neither Slaaneshi priest in the Phantoms is one who puts the sexual side of the Dark Prince front and center. They're both more about beauty...and chasing satisfaction. Believe me, Ann isn't the person who'd give Kamoshida the vindication of becoming just like him-she's far more creative than that.
> 
> This has only 50% to do with Ann being 17, actually.


	3. Night From Eden

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNING: Kamoshida again, though he's not given much opportunity to be a bastard here. Still, he creeps on Ann at the beginning, and there are a couple lines from Shiho's would-be assault, so, yeah. Also, images of torture and abuse-we're getting into one of the nastiest aspects of Warhammer 40K here, even beyond Chaos.

 

* * *

 

If you asked Ann Takamaki, the largest difference between a good or a bad day was whether or not it was a school day.

"Ann! I've been looking for you!  
  
The speaker of those words was 85% why Takamaki didn't have high opinions of any given schoolday. Probably a significant portion of the remaining 15%, as Ann's own academic abilities were not that terrible until Suguru Kamoshida entered her life, and _definitely_ why people thought she slept with anything vaguely handsome and male. She did not deal with stress all that well, and 'being targeted by an ephebophilic creep' was the hard mode of stress.  
  
Best to get it over with. "Oh, hi Coach," she began, stretching her lips in what she hoped was a good approximation of a smile. "Nice weather we're having, isn't it?" _Nice weather we're having? Really Ann? That was the best you could come up with?  
_  
(Her father thought that Ann should be an actress instead of a model and then after menopause, a designer. Emphasis on the past tense, as that was before he saw Ann in a school play he had insisted on her audition for. He was ashamed of himself.)  
  
If Kamoshida noticed the sheer amount of agony Ann felt in forcing out those happy little words, he didn't show it-which probably meant he didn't notice, as Ann was pretty good at reading people. "You've got that right. Almost makes me wish we had an outdoor stadium to practice in, days like it." The weather outside had to be around 30 degrees Celsius. Ann sometimes wondered if she had the superpower to make people she was lying to preternaturally gullible. "Anyway, want a ride home? It's a bit hot out."  
  
Or maybe he just thought she was a complete airhead who made that small talk on the basis of being too stupid for actual conversation. That would not be surprising.  
  
Thankfully, Ann actually had an excuse today. "Oh, I'd love to, but there's a special summer shoot. The agency will take me home after I'm done." That part about being driven home was total lie, but Kamoshida believed it, Ann hoped.  
  
The coach's smile shrank a few inches. "Oh. To the shoot, then?"  
  
_Oh god please no, don't infect the one thing in my life I like too,_ every cell in Ann's body wanted to say. "Okay," she choked out. It was just five minutes of pretending to be happy with the coach.  
  
With that, Ann walked off to her classes, feeling even more dejected.  
  
Behind her, Kamoshida's expression twisted into something ugly, before he rang up Mishima. "Mishima, I'm gonna need a favor-can you tell Suzui to stay after school for intensive training? ...Thanks."  
  
Ann heard none of this, but she could have sworn her blood temperature dropped by five degrees for no apparent reason.

 

* * *

  
Ann was expecting to still be fuming after The Creep (as she increasingly decided to refer to Kamoshida, after he _called to see her in the middle of a shoot_ ) for the entire weekend following said shoot. This was accurate.  
  
"Hey Ann! How'd the shoot go?"  
  
She was _not_ expecting to be greeted on Monday by a cheerful wave from anyone other than Kamoshida-let alone _Shiho_.  
  
"Uh..." Ann blinked. "Fine?"  
  
"Oh really? Heat wasn't too bad?" Shiho smiled broadly, an expression completely out of place on her normally depressed face. "You've told me how... _finicky_ photographers can get, so I was worried."  
  
"Um...yeah." Ann blinked again, harder this time. "Uh, Shiho? Please don't take this the wrong way but..are you feeling okay?" Not that she minded the change of pace. In fact, this was a lot more akin to what her friend was like when they met each other, only...bouncier?  
  
"Oh, I'm feeling great. Better than ever!" She giggled. "Everything's going great now. I'm so much lighter now-everything's making sense again." To emphasize her point, she held out her arms and spun around once, breathing deeply of the late summer air. "I feel _alive_ again."  
  
It was at that point that whatever was masking Ryuji Sakamoto from Ann decided to let up, and she noticed her old schoolmate standing behind the nearly dancing volleyball girl, arm heavily bandaged. Smiling at Shiho.  
  
The already-shaky train of Ann's thoughts hit their destination-and promptly crashed. Mouthing stupidly, Ann pointed at her friend, then at Ryuji, then back at Shiho. "Holy-" Ann began. "You-and Sakamoto-"  
  
The sudden cheer evaporated. "Oh _God_ no." Shiho shook her head at warp speed, realizing exactly what Ann thought was the source of her happiness. "No offense, Ryuji, but- _no_."  
  
"None taken," Ryuji replied, eyes as wide as Ann's had been.  
  
Oh. Phew. Not that Ann had any particular objections to Sakamoto (beyond 'he's slightly dense', and Ann would be the world's largest hypocrite if she voiced that), but it was kinda out of left field. "Okay," Ann replied, clearing her head of the mental image. "But still-I didn't expect you to be so-"  
  
"Cheerful?" Shiho replied, the smile back. "Yeah, I'm a lot happier recently. But I found some people who helped out when I needed it most. Talking with them-it's really taken a lot off my shoulders."  
  
The cynical side of Ann immediately proffered the word _cult,_ but she quashed that voice. Shiho was _happy_ again, and her friend was stronger than to be taken in by some piece of shit offering enlightenment for the low, low price of your life's savings. "Wow, that's wonderful, Shiho! ...I suppose Sakamoto's one of them?"  
  
"Guilty as charged," he said, waving his bandaged hand. "Though when I went over to her house I discovered that you shouldn't microwave porcelain." He grinned sheepishly.  
  
Ann winced. "Right then, I'll probably be seeing a lot more of you soon, Sakamoto, so-see both of you later."  
  
As soon as Ann left entered the building, Shiho's phone suddenly rang.  
  
Kurusu22: I was watching from the roof. Nice work, missionary.  
  
Aunt_Spiker: I sincerely hope this works.  
  
Aunt_Spiker: I really don't like using Ann like this.  
  
Kurusu22: I don't blame you. But people have to free themselves to truly attune themselves to Chaos. Let alone the Great Serpent of Perfection.  
  
Kurusu22: Better you being a saleswoman than she be trapped as Kamoshida's favorite.

 

* * *

 

"Mr. Kamoshida, due to injuries, is unable to coach today."  
  
With that one sentence, Ann decided today was better than she had anticipated. Yes, she saw Kamoshida limping about earlier, but knowing that...whatever happened to him denied him his real passion-she'd be lying if she didn't feel a bit of vindictive glee.  
  
Then she realized he would likely be free to focus on her. Shit. Oh well, at least Ann could hear him limping from down the halls and politely excuse herself.  
  
"Instead, we will be having a substitute PE teacher for the moment-who Kamoshida _insisted_ on supervising," Ms. Kawakami continued, obviously a bit unsure as to why Kamoshida still showed up despite being covered in bandages (Ann had an idea, but she suspected she would go to detention for voicing such a libel of The Great Kamoshida). "Everyone, this is Hayato Kurou, the new school counselor, who has graciously decided to pull double duties until Kamoshida's recovery."  
  
Said substitute coach/counselor was a brown-haired man who couldn't have been much older than 25-and with some of the most questionable taste in pants on the Earth, going by the floral patterns. Seriously, Ann wasn't the cattiest model on the face of the planet, but seriously? Green, grey and purple? Well, you certainly would be noticed, but Ann couldn't imagine it was convenient to keep on telling people to look up. And a bit overcrowded, too-Ann could swear there were details shifting around as soon as she stopped paying attention to one sector to focus on another part of the pants.  
  
"Nice to meet you all," the substitute began, bowing politely. "I hope that I will not be too much of a backslide, given how my skills in teaching could never possibly compare to an Olympian athlete."  
  
Huh? That sounded...  
  
Really condescending.  
  
Apparently, Kawakami detected the implied insult to the Principal, as her eyebrow rose a bit. "Um..opinions on hiring practices aside _,_ " the homeroom teacher continued, "We are very gracious that he responded to our request to be the-currently only-counselor, and that he was gracious enough to take over Kamoshida's spot until he's recovered from...oh what was it again..."  
  
"His training equipment failing while he was on it," a voice from behind Ann interjected.  
  
"Right, that. Thank you, Kurusu," Kawakami replied, to the surprised muttering of the students.  
  
_Wow,_ Ann thought to herself. _Karma sucks, doesn't it?  
_  
Behind her, Kurusu suppressed a laugh for no apparent reason.  
  
And so apart from the introduction to the new fixture on school grounds, class continued as always-  
  
Right up until the end, where Ann tripped over something furry and black.  
  
"Oww..." she said, getting back up. "Hey, you! I know there's people who might have fish in there, but don't linger around any-"  
  
"Wait, what's a cat doing in the middle of school?"  
  
In fact, the sudden appearance of the cat wasn't all that wasn't adding up. Normally, she'd be expecting gawking students, maybe a few laughs (really, being the designated klutz would be an improvement over being the slut), but for the moment, it was like neither she nor the strange-eyed cat existed.  
  
For another, there was a card in its mouth, which it quickly and gingerly deposited in front of her before running off.  
  
On it was two dragons, one with a lion-like mane of tentacles, kissing. Binding them together were straps of leather and chains made of what seemed to be love poems. Above them was a strange, hermaphroditic figure that resembled a four-armed satyr, watching over the dragons fondly. Surrounding the image was a purple field, and underneath it was emblazoned a title- _the Lovers_.  
  
Ann got up, staring at the card, as normal existence seemed to resume around her. After staring at the card for a while, she decided to pocket it, shaking her head in confusion. She remembered something from a hippie photographer of hers about Tarot containing a card called that-she'd ask. Also, about weird cats.

 

* * *

  
"And _stop!_ Great going Suzui!" Kurou applauded from the sidelines.  
  
So _that_ was why Shiho invited her to the practice. Her best friend wasn't a bad volleyball player, but often she ended up second-guessing herself to an absurd, self-destructive degree.  
  
Now though? Now Shiho seemed to almost be poetry in motion, bobbing to and fro almost casually, with the ball being juggled in the air with precision and ease. It almost was like she was actively showing off without meaning to, her movements more dance than run.  
  
Ann was certainly jealous. Athlete, she was not.  
  
"Amazing, isn't it? Her gracefulness even in the midst of a match."  
  
Ann squeaked and almost fell over herself before she realized the voice came from a previously unseen speaker.  
  
How the hell Kurusu got right next to her without her noticing, Ann had no idea.  
  
"Um...sure?" Ann blinked, before she suddenly realized what those words implied. Her eyes narrowed. "Also, maybe you should, I dunno, _talk to her_ before you-"  
  
"What? Hell no, not my intention at all!" Kurusu waved his hands, grinning sheepishly. "I was just commenting on how confident she is after she joined our little group."  
  
_Our?_ "Wait, are you saying that-"  
  
"Yeah, she told me. I'm the unofficial president of our little club-just her and Ryuji right now, but as you can see," Kurusu continued, indicating Shiho with his head.  
  
Oh. "...Sorry," Ann said, looking down. "It's just that, well, I haven't had the best experiences with men. I've become a _little_ paranoid about it."  
  
"Kamoshida, right?" Kurusu leaned over, lost in thought. "I heard the rumors-and given how you've been avoiding The Mummy of Volleyball all day, I suspect there's not a lot of truth to them."  
  
Oh thank God, _someone_ had a gram of common sense. "Ugh. Don't remind me." Ann's brow furrowed even further. "I'll be honest with you-if the teacher's young enough and you're old enough, I don't think there's an _inherent_ problem in a relationship. Kamoshida, though? Kamoshida's _48_ , and even if he wasn't twice my age, he's an asshole who seems to think of women as trophies." She thought about it for a second. "No, that's not the proper term-it really needs to be more insulting, more demeaning-"  
  
"Can I suggest 'dick wallets'?"  
  
Ann's mouth dropped, and remained that way for three seconds before starting to giggle. "That...is _horrible._ No _wonder_ you're friends with Ryuji." She let herself laugh quietly for a short while before her cheer evaporated. "Yeah. That's it. Kamoshida just saw me working for the agency and thought I was pretty enough to buy, have on his arm...carry his goalpost around, since we're in full crass mode..." She lowered herself down a bit, drawing the strange card out. "Same as it is with everyone, kind of. I'm just the foreign girl to everyone. Nobody cares who I am, they just care about me being blonde and having round eyes. Everyone thinks I'm just some sex-crazed airhead, except Shiho. To them, I'm just a potential object of lust-just like this card says."  
  
"I know how that feels," Kurusu replied, smiling ruefully. "You know what my great criminal charge is?"  
  
"Really? What?"  
  
"I threw a drunk off a woman he was trying to drag into his car, and it split his head open."  
  
And just like that, Akira was in Ann's Big Book of Good People. "Wow. I officially no longer believe any bad rumors about you."  
  
"Still, that card doesn't mean what you think it means," Akira continued, taking the Lovers card. "It's actually from Tarot; lust is an aspect of the Lovers, but it's really more about mutual harmony and introspection. Love, at its core, is a very cerebral emotion-it's all about what another person _is_ rather than _what they appear as_. The Lovers can mean romantic love, and often does, but when applied to a _person_ it's more about intuitive understanding of other people than it is about the ability to inspire lust." He pointed at the satyr. "In this card, this figure, the Keeper of Secrets, is you-a watcher and a guardian of passion, she who understands the soul at its most vulnerable and decides whether the dance of the dragons below her is a healthy dance between two people who adore and respect each other, or mutual slavery born of addiction; you are ultimately above and beyond the dance, as you are able to understand others with a clear head, sans biases." He flipped the card. "Right now, however, the dance is getting away from you-you can see the dance, how it influences and changes others, but you have no idea how to judge it or change it so that you can escape it-the dragons are dancing on your snout."  
  
Why did that make so much sense. Still-"Keeper of Secrets?" Ann pretended to pout. "I don't look _that_ untrustworthy, do I? Can't I be something nicer, like a Curator of Shouts or a Landlady of Whispers?"  
  
Akira snorted in laughter. "Oh, that depends on what you use those secrets for, my dear Keeper." He pulled out a black, shining pin that looked like someone had carved a spiked heart on a black diamond. "Forgive my superstition, but you want a good luck charm? It'll help you see into people's hearts better."  
  
O...kayy. Someone was a bit superstitious. But still- "Thanks," she said, accepting the chitinous-feeling trinket and...pinning it to her...hood...  
  
"Ooogh," she said, holding her head. "I'm feeling dizzy all of a sudden. Gotta use the bathroom for a second..."  
  
Akira's eyes widened. "Um, I'm not sure that's-"  
  
Too late. Ann was out of the door.

 

* * *

 

As she trudged her way ever closer to the bathroom, Ann decided she had not known pain before now. With every step, the pain in her head increased exponentially. Increasingly, Ann decided she might want the nurse's office instead.  
  
"Hey, Takamaki?", said a voice that she barely recognized as belonging to a male member of the volleyball team. "You feelin' okay?"  
  
"No," Ann replied, resisting the urge to follow it up with _duh._ "Could...you help...nurse's office?"  
  
"Sure," said the owner, touching her hand-  
  
_thirsty. so thirsty-runrun-mylegmymyleg-have to keep going-ithurts-sothirstymyleg-  
_  
Ann shrieked, all pain forgotten.  
  
"T-Takamaki!?" The team member took a step back.  
  
"S-Stay away!" Trying to ignore the sensation of her leg bursting from strain and the sense her throat was about to mummify, Ann made a madcap dash to nowhere in particular, accidentally hitting another girl on the way-  
  
_no god imsosorry i didnt mean to please stop no dont i wont do it again dont leave me in here please let me out sodarksodark helpme-  
_  
Ann did not think it was possible to run even faster than before, but she did. One look at a nearby janitor's closet reminded her all too well of an alcohol smell and gathering dust, though from where she couldn't say.  
  
_Have to get out. Have to hide-too much, too much-maybe the locker-  
_  
[something alien towered over him, having expunged uncanny beauty for something horrific, not even humanoid anymore. On what he could see of its face, a lopsided mouth stretched into a sadistic smile. "You should be honored, mon-keigh," the parodically dulcet and calming voice of the xenos came, not from its mouth. "You are going to be part of something wonderful, rather than just feeding our eternal youth." The Wrack reached for a cabinet with one of its many arms, extracting something silvery and thin]  
  
Ann wasn't sure when she had fallen over, but there she was, crawling as fast as she could away from the locker, away from the **xenos torturer** -  
  
"Takamaki!" Ms. Kawakami's voice cut through the haze of fear. "I'm here! I'm here. It's okay, it's gone now, you're safe." A comforting caress from an adult hand-  
  
_No. nononono. Wake up. Taiki talk to me, talk to your teacher please no-no you can't be dead you had so much my fault my fault nono imsosorry imsosorry whathaveidone-  
_  
"DON'T TOUCH ME!" Ann darted away from from her shocked teacher. "I DON'T WANT-DON'T WANT TO SEE IT!"  
  
Tears streaming from her eyes, Ann finally reached the bathroom. Jumping inside, she barricaded a stall door, holding her head-  
  
[Barely clad women with pointed ears cracked glowing whips with cruel elegance. "This one's a fighter", the most armored one said, grinning. "Perhaps we shall save her for the special matches against warpspawn." She shrieked and cried out as much as she could with no tongue, but they only laughed]  
  
[This was not a soldier, but a night monster. A dark warping beyond even the normal blasphemy of the Eldar form, with glowing green eyes and tattoos on a body of solid darkness. He could not see a mouth, but it was definitely smiling as it crushed the helmet of his Battle-Brother before drawing its sword]  
  
"Ann!?"  
  
[Failed, failed, she had failed the Craftworld. For the first and last time in centuries she cried as her dark cousin strode closer to her, imperiously drawing his swords as his retinue cackled]  
  
"Ann, they're just memories! Please Ann, stay with me!"  
  
["Warn the Ethereals." The Water Caste on viewscreen blinked back tears. "For the Greater Good," she said, more for her benefit than his. As the hologram vanished, he put one furry paw on the Dhow's controls and roared, willing the ship's engines for one last charge at the pain-eating pirate fleet]  
  
The door to the stall was ripped off. Ann barely had time to register a black ponytail before she felt an embrace-  
  
_no no Kamoshida stop i'll quit i'll quit don't do this to me i'll do anything not this  
_  
Ann nearly ripped out of the well-intentioned embrace but Shiho held firm, even tighter-  
  
_oh god someone help please oh god someone anyone come mommy help me nonoNONONO  
  
-a flash of light-a surprised grunt that quickly turned into screams of pain-  
  
"YOU-!"  
  
A scream of rage-  
  
Safe, oh god i'm safe oh thankyou thankyou thankyou-  
  
**Ann.  
**_  
[Too many, too many-the roar of daemons joined that of the crowd as they began to cut with their searing claws]  
  
**_Ann, don't run from it.  
_**  
[The shadowy xenos took its time, casually dodging his increasingly weak blasts between jumping in to slice off more of his armor like a noble daintily carving off bits of some exotic beast]  
  
**_Make their pain your own-it's the only way to stop this._  
**  
["Well, look on the bright side, _dear sister_. You won't be fed to the _Enemy_." She would feel fear, except that she just felt at this point it was just too fitting]  
  
**_Ann, I survived this kind of pain, and you're stronger than me. You can too._  
**  
[The ships darted in and out, shearing off bits of the Dhow as he roared in agony, feeling bits of his mental will be taken off as well]  
  
**_No matter what happens, I'm here for you._**  
  
And with a howl of sorrow and agony, Ann let the pain wash over her-  
  
_Ohgodohgodthiswasabadideaithurtsithurtsiturts-  
_  
Relief.  
  
Slowly, Ann fell from the toilet she didn't remember getting on, still feeling blood from where she assumed she was banging her head against the stall. She was still _hurting,_ mind, but suddenly, it didn't seem so bad. More like she had come to appreciate the four major pains that were now a part of her-the gladiator-witch, the warrior-sage, the mourner-seer, the sailor-wizard-as those of friends she had known all her life, the kind of pain that drew people closer together. Almost a refined form of pleasure.  
  
How the hell she knew those titles was beyond her.  
  
As was how the hell her hands had become fleshy vines that now encased Shiho in an organic cocoon.  
  
"Holy-!" Ann tugged at her arms, disbelieving, and slowly starting to panic again-  
  
And then the vines suddenly retracted, reforming back into her hands. Hands which looked...better, somehow.  
  
"...Shiho," she began slowly, raggedly. "What's happening to me?"  
  
"I believe I can explain," the voice of Mr. Kurou came from behind Shiho-a voice which gave the witch-pain a chill down Ann's spine, the sage-pain an urge to kneel in respect, the seer-pain a search for a weapon, and the wizard-pain a sense of cautious curiosity. "And...I need to apologize greatly."  
  
"What?" Ann held her head, ignoring the sensation of suddenly malleable flesh shifting slightly under her touch. "Why?"  
  
"Because it was me who told Akira that a piece from a _Crucible of Malediction_ would be safe," the teacher(?) said as he looked away, apparently shamed. "I thought it would acclimatize peacefully to your soul given his own burgeoning psychic power, Shiho's friendship with you, and my own sorcerous essence guiding the four souls within to join with you."  
  
Wait, _what!?_ "Souls!? There are extra _souls_ in me now!?"  
  
"And all the lore of the Dark Eldar Haemonculi a human can learn and remain sane," Mr. Kurou replied as he leaned against a wall. "But that term means nothing to you, so it is best to start my tale now-about four great gods, the fallen civilization which birthed one, and the God-Emperor whose fear of what he could not understand at first glance ruined the galaxy..."

 

* * *

 

(near future, once again)  
  
"Alright guys, great work!" Rise Kujikawa smiled, nearly a decade of showbiz informing her young life of how to smile and play happy no matter the surrounding problems. "That was a great take despite..." she trailed off, nodding at the news magazine.  
  
Her fellow actors tried to smile back before wandering off, looking dejected. Yeah, no matter how happy the movie you were making, it was kind of hard to maintain cheer when ritualistic killers were about.  
  
Rise, at least, could actually do something, having had some experience with catching _one_ killer with ritualistic elements...though in Adachi's case it really wasn't some compulsion to hang his victims on TV antennas so much as that's where they ended up after the Shadows were done with them. Adachi was, among other things, fairly lazy.  
  
Still, he wasn't the "Phantoms of Truth", whoever they were. That magazine was an exploration of their first known major victim, a volleyball teacher named Suguru Kamoshida, who was found missing his spine, brain, and heart, the last of which apparently was taken along with his pulmonary veins and arteries. Strangely, apart from..the obvious..there were no injuries on the man, not even surgical wounds. Almost as if his biology had been reshaped so that it no longer included the above organs in his body.  
  
Of course, grief around the country ended up being muted as a box of evidence showing exactly what Kamoshida had been up to in his spare time suddenly found itself on the desk of every major media outlet in Tokyo, along with a postcard bearing the distinct "Escher Crown" of the Phantoms explaining what was in it. So it was will all of their victims-someone would be found executed in seemingly impossible and increasingly ironic fashions (in fact, Rise's detective friend, Naoto Shirogane, suspected that the heart removal was the initial factor of irony, but the Phantoms realized something was lost in the messaging by taking out the brain), then a box of evidence showing a laundry list of disgusting crimes would find its way to the offices of the press. In effect, not only murdering their targets, but destroying any fond memories of them.  
  
(In a dark part of her heart that had yellow eyes and was seemingly allergic to clothing, Rise wondered if the Phantoms had the right idea or not-the rest of her quickly reminded that part that the kind of people who _remove brains while the victim is still alive_ aren't the good guys, no matter who they kill.)  
  
Still, she couldn't help right now-though she _was_ helping, that's why Naoto had paid off the director of this movie to shoot in Tokyo. Her Persona, Kouzeon, was very much a gatherer of intelligence, something very useful when tracking down obviously supernatural killers.  
  
Naturally, the first thing Rise discovered was that the Phantoms could confuse Kouzeon's scans somehow. Oh well, nothing worth doing was easy.  
  
So lost in thought she was that she almost didn't notice the blonde girl with pigtails leaning on the door.  
  
"Oh? Hi!" Rise said, cheerful mode going back on. "You're one of the models for the poster, right?"  
  
"Yeah. I am." The girl turned to face Rise, an emotionless expression on her face. "I was wondering where I was supposed to report."  
  
Rise's smile shrank a few teeth. It was obvious that the girl wasn't a particularly friendly sort. "Right then, the shoot's actually in the other studio. Look for a sign that says 'photo-op stage'."  
  
"Got it." The girl slowly leaned away from the door, letting a grey and red scarf trail behind her. Rise expected her to turn and leave, but instead, she stared-not glared, stared, in the same sense a scientist stared through a microscope at a not-particularly-interesting germ-at Rise for about thirty seconds.  
  
"...Can I help you?" Rise asked, a little desperately.  
  
"I'm fine." With that, the girl tugged on her scarf, and left.  
  
It was only after she left that Rise realized three things;  
  
1) There was an odd, misty smoke that smelled of roses in the room that Rise was not sure there was before,  
  
2) The girl had an odd purple tattoo, like a scepter or a Venus symbol turned on its side and its line curved to form a sickle, on her right hand.  
  
3) The scarf had weird beads that looked like bones on either end-and she heard a slight whimper when the girl tugged on it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise! There's Persona 4 characters here too! ...Which only makes sense, as Yu Narukami lives in Tokyo. He'd notice the growing influence of Chaos. Suffice to say, they are not going to figure that much into the story-it just isn't theirs.
> 
> Really though, this is indicating that this isn't just a Warhammer story with Persona 5 characters, it's a fusion of cosmologies; like mentioned before, Chaos mutations, here, are the result of you being fused with elements of your Shadow's monstrous form. Psyker powers and Personas both exist, they're just different strokes for different folks, as they say.
> 
> Speaking of, for the Persona fans reading this: The Crucible of Malediction is a type of pseudo-mystic weapon created by the aforementioned Dark Eldar to make up for their lack of psychic powers. Dark Eldar are assholes-as you may have guessed from the scenes from the souls' memories, they're a race of slavers who literally feed on pain to live (and before you pity them for their need to keep eating agony, keep in mind Craftworld and Corsair Eldar are biologically the same species, and don't need pain; Dark Eldar do so so they don't have to give up their hedonism, since what kills them in the end is Slaanesh devouring their souls, and he's drawn to hedonism. It's either stop snorting blow or torture the populations of entire worlds, and the Dark Eldar choose the latter, every damn day). The core component of a Crucible is, quite simply, the souls of a couple hundred or so psykers who have been tortured to death and put inside a cube by a Haemonculus (Dark Eldar scientist-Wracks are Haemonculi apprentices) so their agonized wailing can be used to knock out enemy psykers.
> 
> In other words, they torture hundreds of people to death and enslave their souls to make reusable stun grenades. Did I mention they're often viewed as worse than Chaos, generally?
> 
> Also, Ann's title is a reference to Lilith. Useful trivia.
> 
> (quick question-think I should up the rating now? The Dark Eldar are a walking trigger warning).


	4. Wisdom in Alizarine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woo. Long summer-I even got co-authored into a couple other fics on Archive of Our Own. But I am back.

Sketch, trace image, fill. Sketch, trace image, fill.  
  
Really, painting wasn’t so different from crayons and coloring books-the main difference was that you drew the uncolored outlines of the picture first. One of the techniques the Ichiryusai Madarame school of painting imprinted on its students were that me of which were the lines should be colored themselves, which was something of a problem for beginning painters trying to avoid colors blending together. The trick was planning for it in advance.  
  
This was Yusuke Kitagawa’s life, and if that was the extent of it, he would be happy. True, his priorities and rather tight wallet meant he had to study Tibetan fasting techniques to ensure he wouldn’t have to waste critical art supply money on things like decent meals, but that just made the actual meal when the fruits of his labors was sold and recouped the loss all the more filling.  
  
At least, that was the ideal. In reality, there was a fairly large problem with being a student of Madarame and hoping to be able to sell your paintings under your own name.  
  
“Yusuke, please, I’m begging you. I barely have enough money to pay for heating as it is.”  
  
Namely, Madarame.  
  
It was quite the poetic irony, really. Here was Yusuke, who had Madarame to thank for, well, everything he knew about art in general-as well as, to be frank, his life. Madarame had effectively been his foster father since Yusuke had the ability to form coherent memories (about three, actually). Yusuke doubted he could have ever become such a skilled artist without Madarame’s help. His work was more than good enough for showing at the most prestigious and elite galleries and auctions.  
  
Which would be fine, were it not for that fact that all of said work was under Madarame’s name.  
  
How the wellspring of creativity Madarame once had for his famous variety in styles dried up was beyond him or Yusuke. He bitterly joked that he overused it, trading longevity for scope. He was still a highly competent  _sensei,_ mind, but there was a world of difference between creating art and creating  _artists_. One tended to pay more bills after all. Thus, the need for Madarame to lean on his students ( _more like “use as crutch”_ , Yusuke sourly thought to himself).  
  
Why this necessitated  _publishing art that belonged to his students under his own name_ was something Yusuke was never quite clear on. He had asked, but the look of absolute betrayal in his sensei’s eyes dissuaded him from ever asking again. Or even waiting around for an answer.  
  
( _The dancing monkey does more than a waltz,_  a dark part of Yusuke pointed out. Yusuke had learned to ignore that part for reasons of sanity.)  
  
As for the current situation, Yusuke pretended to examine a particularly red outline while scrubbing his response of any of his actual opinions on having his art stol- _published unaccredited_ again. “...Is it your wish to name this piece, too?” The young painter sincerely hoped that comment didn’t sound  _too_ strangled.  
  
Madarame immediately brightened significantly ( _suspiciously,_ said the dark part). “Wonderful! No, no, this is your piece-I owe you that much. You might want to correct that blue line for your next layer though.”  
  
As Madarame’s footsteps trailed off, Yusuke did a quick calculation of the cost of one of his spare cans versus the cost of food.  
  
Eh, he could go without takoyaki for a month. Silently, he curled his left, less vital hand into a fist and with a single strike, caved in the lid of a darling shade of green.  
  
Somehow that wasn’t nearly as satisfying as he hoped it would be-particularly as the absolute helplessness of his situation dawned on him.  
  
Work now. Curl up in corner and scream into uncaring, empty void of existence later. On the bright side, he now had the proper frame of mind to use nothing but somber colors, now-though he had the presence of mind to push the easel away from his face in case he lost control of his tear ducts while working (probably from his aching hand. Possibly. He desperately hoped it was from his hand).  
  
Sketch, trace image, fill. Sketch, trace image, fill.

* * *

Yusuke was not, strictly speaking, a very sexual person. In fact, he would probably describe himself as asexual with some reaction to the female gender. Or maybe he was completely asexual, and he was internally comparing girls to his internal Great Lexicon of Vaguely Sexual And/Or Romantic Paintings. He honestly wasn’t sure.  
  
Still, on the off-chance he was capable of such a thing, he would describe the sensation as he got a good second glance at the Blonde Goddess as “love at first sight.” Or possibly “overpowering relief at having a good living model, finally.” Yusuke had given up on detangling these feelings long ago.  
  
It was like one of the illustrations in his books on the ideal Impressionist female model had walked straight out of the pages and did her hair in pigtails. From creamy white skin to eyes the color of the sky to the liquid gold in twin waterfalls, Yusuke had to blink to make sure he wasn’t seeing things from hunger pangs and lack of sleep (and, uh, shapely as well, he guessed. Really, why did people care about that, the face was the important part).  
  
Madarame rose an eyebrow. “Yusuke? Is there something the matter-”  
  
“Excuse me sensei. I need to take a train ride. I’ll text you the station-”  
  
Somehow, the painter managed to leave the car fast enough to get on the subway, Blonde Goddess in sight. Unfortunately, the only car free was the one in front of hers, away from where he could reasonably pitch the modeling job. Really, it wasn’t  _too_ much a diversion-Madarame was going to pick him up at the exit she was heading to, all he needed was to just ask her. Should only take a minute-  
  
Odd, where were her two male companions-  
  
Yusuke gave a surprised shout as he felt a hand suddenly grab his shoulder and spin him around, revealing the pseudo-blonde companion (Yusuke doubted one would paint eyebrows black) with a murderous glint in his eye, rearing back a bandaged hand-  
  
Only to stop in mid-windup. He blinked, looking over the petrified painter. “...You sure this is the guy, Ann? That you weren’t just reading the wrong thing?”  
  
“Ha-ha, very funny. That’s not insensitive  _at all._ ” The Blonde Goddess stepped between her friend and Yusuke, leveling an accusing finger even as the pseudo-blonde was lowering his fist. “You were stalking me! Why!?”  
  
“Stalking you? ...That’s outrageous.”  _That_ was what this was about? It wasn’t like Madarame didn’t follow him around unannounced when his sensei wanted something.   
  
Speaking of, Yusuke internally winced as a familiar black car drove into view.  
  
“I was wondering why you left the car! So _this_  was where your passion led.” The teacher laughed warmly(?) as the bespectacled boy walked out from behind his other friend. Wonderful-Madarame would never allow the Blonde Goddess to enter the shared house. Ah well, he could pretend Kosei High still allowed him to use their premises for painting after The Sistine Incident (how was he supposed to know that “use whatever surface you need” did not include the walls?), again. So, time for the pitch-  
  
Inhale. “I saw you from the car..and I couldn’t help myself from chasing after you,” he began. “I didn’t-  
  
And was immediately cut off. “Right, I’m gonna cut you off right there,” the Goddess began, rubbing her forehead. “I know I look nice, smell nice, but I’m not looking for a squeeze right now-”  
  
“Um, excuse me?” Yusuke answered, genuinely puzzled.  
  
“You’re the fifth one this week,” she replied, scratching her hand. “I know I have this...aura, but-”  
  
“Ann, he has nothing resembling lust right now,” the glasses-wearing boy spoke up, his gloved fingers on his temple.  
  
The pseudo-blonde blinked. “You’re joking.”  
  
“Nope, he just wanted to ask her something.” The boy shrugged.  
  
Yusuke decided that knowing why he knew that was a mystery that could be solved later. “Thank you. Ahem;”  
  
“Madam, please be the model for my next art piece!” He accentuated this with a pose he had been practicing for weeks in case a potential subject showed up. “I feel a passion from you unlike anything else, something that can fill this hole I have had in my art up until now!”  
  
Ann blinked “Huh!?”  
  
“Um, I’m sorry, is this a recruitment for some shady business?” The pseudo-blonde looked completely lost.  
  
“Oh, where are my manners! I’m Yusuke Kitawaga, I’m a live-in apprentice artist to Madarame.”  
  
Ann’s eyebrows shot up. “Wait,  _Madarame?_ The most varied painter in Japan?”  
  
The spectacled boy sniffed. “Baby bird’s growing up so fast.”  
  
“Whoa! Hey! When I signed up for your...er…” Ann seemed to suddenly remember something. “...Your, um, yoga class, I didn’t expect to be suddenly approached by would-be Da Vincis right and left! It’s kind of sudden!”  
  
“Yoga?” Yusuke turned to the boy. “Am I given to understand you are partially responsible for this maiden’s beauty brought out to its full potential?”  
  
“...Actually, yes, I am,” the boy replied, glancing at his male friend, who nodded. “I wouldn’t call it a class, more of a club, though. I’m Akira Kurusu.”  
  
“My compliments.” He turned back to Ann. “If you are interested, I can give you tickets to Madarame-sensei’s exhibition opening tomorrow and we can discuss it there. If you’d like, you can bring Kurusu along.” He thought for a second. “And, er you as well.”  
  
“How generous,” the pseudo-blonde said sarcastically.   
  
Ann was about to say something when Akira held up a finger and glanced at her for a second. Her expression shifted to one of comprehension for a second before she smiled. “I think I will.”  
  
Relief bounded through Yusuke. “Thank you! Now, I really must be going.”

* * *

Much to Yusuke’s annoyance, the pseudo-blonde (whose name was Ryuji Sakamoto, as it were) decided to follow along to the modeling job with both Akira and Ann. Thankfully, he remained largely silent while Akira proved to be another set of eyes.

  
“Actually, I don’t think pastel works for her eyes,” the boy in question said, pointing at the latest sketch Yusuke was filling. “It seems ethereal, ghostly-Ann’s a very lively person, very...passionate. I think a darker shade gets that across better.”  
  
“Now that you mention it, I agree.” Yusuke put down the brush and turned his palette around, revealing the deeper blues. “She does have that intense gaze.” He neglected to mention he found this rather intimidating. Much like many things about Miss Takamaki.  
  
No matter how the girl posed, Yusuke couldn’t get the mental image of a predatory cat out of his head; a standing Ann meant the cat was getting ready to pounce on her prey, a lounging Ann saw the cat laying down as it planned its assault, a smile-well, cats tended to have an expression that could be considered smiling, if only due to the shape of their jaws. The most intimidating factor of all was that Ann seemed to be completely unaware of it; the girl oozed menace and danger as a basic facet of her existence, not because she was deliberately snarling at people. Much like a lioness would.  
  
Strangely, Yusuke was not actually put off by this. If anything, it made the Blonde Goddess even more alluring, somehow. A smudge of darkness that drew attention to the overall effect of the light. It was just so difficult to capture.  
  
“Yunno, I hear that a lot around Ann and Shiho,” Ryuji said. “What in the eff does pastel even mean?”  
  
“Lightly shaded,” Ann replied, still utterly motionless in her pose, quite the feat of flexibility given how she was standing on one leg and leaning back, a dancer frozen in the middle of a move. “Pale and transparent.”  
  
Ryuji nodded. “I get it. So that fog you-”  
  
There was a very loud mew from Akira’s bag as Ryuji flinched. “...fog you see in, er, stage shows. Yeah, from a fog machine.”  
  
Ann winced slightly before glancing at Akira, who snorted a second later.  
  
“...I suppose,” Yusuke replied, apparently oblivious. “I don’t think I’ve ever been to one.”  
  
“Really?” Ryuju leaned forward. “What, you into classical? I mean it figures-maybe we could go to a concert sometime-”  
  
“Actually no, I despise any musical genre that comes before the 19th century, except for Mozart,” Yusuke replied, bluntly. “It all sounds... _mechanical_ to me.”  
  
“Awesome!” Ryuji grinned. “Say, you want some of my CDs? I’ve got some old CDs I’ve been wanting to sell for a while-”  
  
“As tempting as that is, I wish to eat for the next week,” Yusuke said, ruefully. “As it currently stands, I have barely enough money to pay for this shade of pink-”  
  
“Really!?” Ann said, barely wavering in her pose as her jaw dropped. “But isn’t this the cheapest paint made?”  
  
“Yes,” Yusuke said, sourly. “But Madarame-but I don’t need to burden you,” he hurriedly finished.  
  
“...Or him?” Akira asked.  
  
Yusuke froze, uncertain of what to say.  
  
“...Please do not talk anymore,” he choked out. “I need to focus.”  
  
The rest of the painting passed by in an awkward, eerie silence.  
  
He almost didn’t notice the card left under his palette, depicting a dragon in royal armor against a gray sky of dancing stars.

* * *

“Long day, Yusuke. You think people would be more willing to pay for paintings at the end of these expositions, but…” Madarame shrugged. “At least you can break your latest fast this month.”  
  
Thank all that was holy. Yusuke could have sworn he saw a rib poking out.  
  
“Though...I must say, who’s this fine lady?” Madarame looked over the painting of Ann (which even now Yusuke thought looked less like a ballerina and more like a pouncing lioness). “Your new model? ...Not painted here, I hope.”  
  
“No,” Yusuke replied, automatically. He couldn’t frighten his muse away, not yet. “I just took several pictures of her and worked from that. It was an interesting experiment.”  
  
“Ha! Oh my dear student, reminds me of myself. Though I needed a sketchbook and a hidden alcove for that dinner party.” He tapped his leg. “It still twinges when I think about it, sometimes.” His face fell. “Now to stare at a blank canvas for a while and pray something presents itself.” With that, he wandered off.  
  
 _Didn’t he linger a bit long around the painting?_  
  
Yusuke assumed that thought came from his head. It sounded strangely feminine, though.   
  
He didn’t mind though, as what was apparently his feminine side made sense.  
  
 _Think about it,_ the thought continued.  _Since when have you ever gained even acknowledgement of your ability? It’s always Madarame, Madarame, Madarame. How are you supposed to have a career when everything you’ve made is in his name?_  
  
“He is the source of income,” Yusuke said, hoping actual sound would quelch the previous thought. “If he didn’t have fame, we would not have money at all, let alone what meager amount we do have.”  
  
 _Oh yes, because a teenage prodigy wouldn’t be famous,_  the thought replied, skepticism Yusuke imagined was obvious on her androgynous face.  _And somehow the toast of Japan barely makes enough to buy bean sprouts?_  
  
“...He could be in debt…” Yusuke said, half-heartedly.  
  
 _On what? Property prices are expensive, but this rotting shack?_  The thought scoffed.  _The only time people are this frugal in Madarame’s is if they have greater pleasure hoarding wealth than spending it._  
  
“I would prefer it if you stop spitting poison at my teacher…”  
  
 _Settle down, Yusuke. I’m part of your mind, remember? Your personal muse._ The thought sighed.  _He left you that card for a reason. The Emperor, the lord of dominion and courage, but reversed for you. You are falling into the sky, your own denial of reality sending you further and further into the abyss, because you keep on making up lies for him._  
  
“I should return it to him-”  
  
 _Have you ever wondered what’s in Madarame’s studio?_  
  
Yusuke bit his cheek. “Yes, but-”  
  
 _Do you want to find out?_  
  
Pain briefly blossomed over Yusuke’s body, and he felt...more distant from the world. Almost like reality was a sandwich, and he was between one slice and another.  
  
 _Go on. Come and see._

* * *

Yusuke thought he understood anger. And he did.

The thing replacing the shock and horror was not anger. It was  _hatred._  
  
The perfect blend of sorrow, rage and self-recrimination he felt was almost a joy-there was an entire emotional experience he had been denying, the feeling of betrayal, confusion, and grim resolution that was currently resonating through his mind.  
  
“Forgery,” he said through clenched teeth, a whispering sound in his intangible state. “He’s copying  _Sayuri_.”  
  
 _Don’t forget, he damaged the original,_ the thought said.  _An entire element, gone forever. Now there is none but you who know that woman is a mother fondly overlooking her child._  
  
That was what really got Yusuke, in fact. Not just the sheer betrayal of Madarame’s original talent (if he had painted it at all-the mist censoring the child had a completely different brush pattern than the rest of the painting, he had checked in the initial flitting through the paintings, looking for the real one via sticking his head in), but the simple fact that truth behind whatever  _Sayuri_ had been permanently destroyed. That portrait was a labor of love, and the very core of the essence undone? How long ago, Yusuke wondered, had Madarame lost his soul?  
  
 _I wonder how much money he makes off those copies,_ the thought said, a claw coming to the face.  _And why if, should he be in debt, he did not tell you? “I promise you, as I have done with all my apprentices-if I must do something dark to support us, I will.” Wait, he said that in the leadup to the first time he stole your talent. And they say Slaanesh is the liar of the gods._  
  
Well, that settled it. “Slaanesh?” Yusuke said, curiosity cutting through fear. “I suppose that is the name of what sent you to me?”  
  
 _Technically, bid me into light from the dark side of your soul. And it was Akira’s card that focused him._  The thought, which Yusuke now imagined to be purple in hide and with dark, soulful eyes that spoke of depths of an inner life unfathomable to him.  _But yes, I am an emissary of Slaanesh, the timeless God of all creativity and perfection, to be your guide._  
  
Yusuke laughed, bitterly. “And so I at last have the perfect muse, just as I discover the depths of this hollow shell that calls himself my mentor. I know how forgery works-he tells plebeians the copy he sells is the true one, and  _Sayuri’s_ memory is dishonored more by those who wish her all to themselves.”  
  
 _And art is devalued a bit more,_ the living thought finished sourly.  _It’s outright sacrilegious._  
  
Slowly, Yusuke’s hot rage cooled to ice. He needed to make Madarame pay-no, make  _everyone_ who abetted him pay, ignoring the plight of the students he had parasitized for little more than a mantlepiece.  
  
“I believe I can help there.”  
  
Yusuke whirled around to face the voice-that-was-a-sound. And the man in floral pants who had spoken it-or was it the bird of prey with wings the same lovely shades as the pants?  
  
Yusuke imagined his muse prodding him.  _Akira’s guide. This is one of Slaanesh’s nephews._  
  
Well, that was something that required proprietary. Yusuke bowed deeply, to the amused chuckle from his savior’s patron. “At ease. That is hardly a literal descriptor. I am simply an old daemon who enjoys watching people pursue their greatest desires.” He cocked his head in both levels of reality. “Though...what you desire is something you are not fond of.”  
  
“Revenge is ugly,” Yusuke admitted.   
  
“But justice is beautiful,” the emissary replied, striding forward. “And it is justice I seek, for a crime done to the very soul of humanity-one not yet done, but in several thousand years, a man will come to destroy all truth but his own, and in so doing render the galaxy dead…”

* * *

Naoto had believed that Adachi had the strangest, most colorful method of murder possible.  
  
The Phantoms of Truth apparently believed he was a challenge.  
  
“Arsenic paint,” the toxicologist said, shaking his head. “Hyper-concentrated with this compound I can’t identify. This is the, oh, eighth  _Sayuri_ death?”  
  
“Ninth,” Naoto replied, the emotional drain in her voice evident. “Madarame was the first, though he was not poisoned.”  
  
“Crushed,” the coroner replied, nodding. “How  _did_ they rig his house-the expensive one-to blow like that?”  
  
“Explosives and tripwires, if you want the most basic form,” Naoto replied, thoughtfully. “But examination shows that the bedroom, foyer, and art studio was deliberately left intact-the more ostentatious the room, the more it was rigged to blow the moment he brought the trapped _Sayuri_ beyond the motion detectors when transporting it to his client”  
  
“The utter destruction of the products of his sin, undone by his fraud,” the toxicologist finished. “Fitting, as expected by the Phantoms.”  
  
“Murder is  _never_ fitting,” Naoto replied, a bit more harshly than she had been intending (which was saying something). “They are out to hurt the world for whatever pain has been done to them, regardless of how many innocents are sacrificed to their revenge.”  
  
“Perhaps,” the toxicologist said, an odd smile on his face. “But the green tinge to the mist cloud creates such a lovely shade.”  
  
It was only later (when Naoto was consulting the police force about checking into the odd, macabre man’s background) that she discovered the toxicologist had called in sick due to food poisoning he had contracted after visiting an art gallery. Try as she might, she could not remember the other, except for hair a pastel blue.  
  


 


End file.
